


fall from grace

by cruellae (tinkabelladk)



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Abuse of the Scientific Method, Child Abuse, Gen, Unethical Science, destructive impulses, general Shinra shadiness, the experimental subject is not ok
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:47:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24092308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinkabelladk/pseuds/cruellae
Summary: A collection of stand alone vignettes centered on Sephiroth.
Relationships: Hojo & Sephiroth (Compilation of FFVII), Lucrecia Crescent & Sephiroth
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	fall from grace

**Author's Note:**

> In which Sephiroth has highly improbable developmental speed because Jenova magic.

Sephiroth’s oldest memory is of a woman who is not his mother. She has long brown hair, her bangs framing her face. Her bangs are like his, but her eyes are too soft and sad to resemble his own. 

In his memory he is very small, lying on his back on a firm surface, looking up at the strange woman who has leaned over the railing of the crib to peer at him. Her cheeks are wet, and a single drop of water runs down them to splash on his face. 

Years later, he will ask Hojo, who will tell him it was only a dream--that he was too young to remember anything about their time in Nibelheim. 

But it isn’t. It isn’t a dream, but a memory. Most humans would not be able to recall something that happened when they were not even a year old, but Sephiroth is not most humans--if he is even human at all. 

Lying helplessly in the crib, he reaches out to her, his hand tiny and chubby, squat fingers extended. “Mama,” he says, pleading with her. “Pick me up?” 

In the memory, he believes that she is his mother. He knows it with such absolute certainty and when Hojo tells him the truth, tells him of  _ Jenova, _ he will marvel at how wrong he was. 

It’s the first time he ever speaks to her--the only time. She gasps in horror, pressing her hand to her mouth. The softness in her eyes is gone--replaced by a fear that glitters maniacally as her lips tremble. 

“You can’t speak,” she whispers. “You’re barely six months old, you can’t…” She covers her face and whimpers. “They were right. The dreams, the visions--they were right about you.” 

She lowers her hands, gazing at him with bleak despair. He watches her carefully, wanting to reach out for her touch, but now he is afraid too. Afraid that she will leave, but also afraid that she might stay. 

“Sephiroth.” Her voice shakes. “Oh, Gaia, forgive me. I didn’t know. I didn’t know what he would become...” 

Something in her hand catches the light, flashing for a moment as it descends towards him. He is unfamiliar with the object, but he knows from the way she holds the shiny, reflective thing that it is dangerous. 

Even as an adult, he will sometimes dream he is back there, lying helplessly on a white mattress, watching the knife descend slowly, unsteadily towards him. 

“Lucrecia.” Hojo’s voice cracks like a whip. “Put that away.” 

“There’s going to be fire,” she whispers, holding perfectly still. The knife so close Sephiroth could reach out and touch it. “He’s going to burn the Planet to ash.” 

“Lucrecia…” 

“The Ancients called her the Calamity from the Skies. But they were wrong. She is just the seed. Hojo,  _ he is the Calamity. HE IS THE--” _

“I will break that Turk,” Hojo says. “I will let your demon finish bringing him back and then I will spend the rest of my life slowly torturing him until he has quite completely lost his mind. Do you understand me?” 

“Vincent,” Lucrecia whispers, and for the first time Sephiroth sees something else in her soft eyes, a spark of warmth, a current of love. But it is not meant for him. 

“Valentine will come to no harm at my hands, provided you keep your wretched self away from my work.” 

Lucrecia is still and silent for a long moment. Then she sets the knife down beside Sephiroth and lowers her head, slipping past Hojo and out of the room. 

Hojo mutters something under his breath, but Sephiroth is occupied with trying to get his clumsy left hand to close around the dull part of the object in his crib. He wants to hold it the way  _ she  _ did. 

Hojo’s face appears over the side of the crib, his waspish features as cool and indifferent as ever. After seeing the woman, his familiar disinterest is something of a relief. 

“You like that, do you?” Hojo asks. 

“Where?” Sephiroth asks, his attention pulled from his new toy. 

“You want to know where she went?” Hojo scowls, lines appearing on his brow. “Forget about her, Sephiroth. She means nothing to you.”

“Mama,” Sephiroth says, stubbornly. Because he knows who she was. He could feel it when she was near. 

Hojo pushes his glasses up on his nose, sighing. “Do you want to play a game tonight?” 

“Yes,” Sephiroth says, sitting up and brandishing his new toy. 

Hojo smiles, watching him. “Left handed, are we?” 

“Left?” 

“Human biology is a peculiar thing,” Hojo says, pulling a stool up to the side of the crib. “You see, all humans have a dominant hand--one hand that is better at doing things like--careful, Sephiroth. That’s sharp.” He pinches the flat of the knife between his fingers and pulls it slightly back from Sephiroth’s face. “If you let this side of it touch you, you’ll regret it.” 

Sephiroth nods, considering his new toy carefully. A toy that can be destructive...he has never been given such a thing before. He decides he likes it. 

“Here,” Hojo says. “I knew there would be a use for this.” He rummages in the closet until he finds a soft, plush stuffed chocobo. He sets it in the crib. “If you want to stab something, you have a willing victim.” 

Sephiroth might have liked to cuddle the fluffy toy, but finds that there is just as much joy to be had in slowly cutting it to shreds. All the while Hojo talks to him about the neurology behind handedness and how unusual and special it is that he is left handed. 

“Now, you’d best get some sleep,” Hojo says, taking the ruined stuffed animal out of the crib, along with Sephiroth’s knife. “You can have this back in the morning.”

Sephiroth pulls himself up on the crib’s railing and reaches out his hand, grasping. “Hug?” 

Hojo hesitates in the doorway, considering. “Not tonight, Sephiroth,” he said, finally. “Go to sleep.” 


End file.
